


Gilded

by brownbot5k



Series: Pretty Girls with Good Manners [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Crossdressing, Dom/sub, F/M, Flirting, Genderplay, Marking, Other, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownbot5k/pseuds/brownbot5k
Summary: While helping him clean out his stuff, Grace discovers her boyfriend's lipstick.  She likes him in it.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Pretty Girls with Good Manners [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005243
Kudos: 9





	Gilded

Bob has a lot of things, and he doesn’t like getting rid of any of them. Compared to Grey, he’s only been in Vago a short while, but he has twice the amount of possessions and every time he tries to clean them out, he gets bogged down. At first, he tries hiding what he’s doing from Grey, but finally, he asks her for help: “You’re always so organized… and I don’t want to have to lug all this in a truck like last time.”

His expression is ginger, like he expects her to be upset. He’s trying to let her down easy, she knows, remind her that he’s planning to leave the job, move back to the east coast. But he’s never lied to her about that; she knew going in that this would happen. So it doesn’t bother her to say yes.

They take on the boxes marked “bathroom” first, since they’ll have the fewest personal belongings, and that’s when Grey finds the lipstick. Presuming it the possession of an ex-girlfriend, she moves to toss it, but Bob stops her.

“No, no, I’m keeping this.”

Grey looks questioning.

“Yeah, it’s mine. I did Rocky Horror, back in the day.” Bob uncaps the lipstick and gives it a twist. It comes up a lush metallic gold.

“Show me?” Grey asks.

So after they clean out the expired cleaning products and extra toothbrushes, Bob boots up his laptop and plops down on the couch to pull up the photo albums. Grey sits next to him, riveted.

Bob is young in these pictures, smooth and clean-shaven, with no glasses or gray in his (long) hair. But that’s not what stands out. No, what stands out is the gold. He’s covered in it—the thick wings of glitter over his eyes, the lipstick and fingernail polish, the bangles on his wrists. And his clothes! Grey didn’t know corsets came in gold lamé.

“Black is the traditional color for this,” Bob says as he clicks through, “but it’s boring. Su gets all the credit, by the way. She took me shopping, made me presentable…”

Grey says nothing, just watches the younger Bob pose, wink, blow kisses at the photographer (surely Su), hip cocked and hands dancing. This is a Bob that she’s only seen glimpses of, shameless and uninhibited, fey and flamboyant. Show-stopping.

Grey can’t imagine ever being that confident herself.

“When?” she asks.

“Oh jeez, let’s see… late seventies? Yeah, grad school, I hadn’t quite had the queeniness steamrolled out of me yet…”

“What happened?”

Bob makes a huffy pseudo-laugh. “I started making money. And I got tired of dealing with other people’s bullshit.” With affected lightheartedness: “plus the shaving took forever.”

Grey watches Bob’s younger self cavort across the screen, laughing and happy. She touches a finger to the screen, smiles at Bob.

“Beautiful,” she says.

Bob looks raw and open for a moment; then he looks away. “You know, I even felt the same way, back then. Guess that’s why I bought the new tube when I was unemployed. I don’t know, here I was, stuck in this litter box city, and I wanted to feel good about something.” He shrugs. “Didn’t work; just made me realize how old and square I’d gotten.”

Grey brushes her fingers up and down Bob’s shoulder, currently clad in the usual polo shirt. She tries to speak, but the words get stuck.

Bob waits for her. Finally, Grey manages to untangle: “See you in it. Please?”

Bob blinks. Then a spark comes into his eye and his body language shifts to pleased, confident.

“Oh really?”

Grey nods and Bob puts the laptop away.

It’s nothing elaborate—the lipstick is all Bob has. But watching him paint his mouth in gold is still a revelation. There’s a precision to it, but Bob navigates his mustache easily, like he’s done it a hundred times. Watching feels intimate, and when Bob finishes and turns with a flourish and a, “ta-da!” there’s a bit of hesitancy behind it, like he’s not sure how Grey will react.

She just stares. The only point of comparison she has is Vicky, who only ever wore makeup at prom, and the effect was mostly wasted on Grey. But Bob in lipstick is gilded. It’s like the precious metal under his skin is visible now, matching the frames of his glasses, transforming him into something otherworldly but still him.

“So?” Bob asks. “What do you think?”

Grey replies by kissing him, and under the gold, it’s still Bob’s mouth against hers, still Bob’s softness against her, Bob’s hands on her back. Grey pushes back into his hands, trying to get him to dig his nails in.

He doesn’t, but when he pulls back, he laughs. “Wow, this stuff smears right off.” He brushes his thumb over Grey’s mouth, then pauses. Heat comes into his eyes. “You look good like this.”

Hot and cold flash through her.

Bob reaches for the tube. “Let me put some on you…”

Grey swallows. She’s never worn makeup. She’s never dared. She was never the kind of person that other girls played dress-up with. Up until this moment, she never thought she’d want to… or could.

Bob’s waiting, looking at her questioningly. She squeezes for yes.

Normally, Bob races along at a mile a second. His mind is always going in a million directions, leap-frogging all over the place, touching everything at once. But at times like this, he slows down, focuses only on what’s he’s doing, turning her gold.

Grey knows she’s not like Bob. This can’t possibly look good on her, not like it does on him. Her color, her build, it’s all wrong. But it’s obvious from Bob’s face that he doesn’t think so. His smile makes a zing go through her.

“I didn’t think you’d let me,” he teases, but in a nice way. “Good girl.”

He hasn’t called her that since the first time, and it gives her the shivers, because she can tell he means it. “I love you,” she says.

Normally, that would make him draw back, brush it off. But here, now, it makes him purr, “damn right you do,” and kiss her hard.

Bob doesn’t bite or scratch her, but he leaves shining smears on Grey’s mouth, her neck, shoves her down on the bed and moves lower. Grey wants to keep kissing him, but not as much as she wants to be covered in gold, to wear it under her clothes to work, even if she can’t say who left it on her. She wants everyone to see it on her and know someone beautiful touched her, even if they can’t know it’s Bob. She wants Bob like this, golden and unstoppable, before he defaulted to wearing nothing but brown, white, and blue, before he took to fidgeting with his glasses to still his dancing hands. Grey wants everything.

And when Bob touches the gold he’s left on her hips, it’s with such longing that she says, “keeping these.”

“You’re killing me, Grace.” But he doesn’t say no, and all the following shift, she feels his eyes on her. Even though nobody sees it, he knows it’s there, and she finds excuses to touch her hips in front of him, flirting with him in ways only he recognizes, and that evening, he drags her to bed, rips her clothes off, and throws himself into her lap to claw her back and bite her everywhere.

“You,” he growls, “are a tease.”

She beams at him and says, “yes,” and he comes in her hand, telling her all of the lovely things he does to girls like her.

He never tries to quit marking her ever again.


End file.
